This Voice I Hear
by pingo1387
Summary: They've always heard each other. Always and forever will they hear each other. One-shot.


**FYI, Arthur is ~1 year older than Alfred**

* * *

Six-year-old Alfred Jones was playing outside one day. He soon got bored of looking for bugs in the grass and decided to climb one of the trees in the yard. Looking over his shoulder to make sure his mother wasn't watching from a window, he ran towards one with a low branch. He grabbed the branch, wiggled his legs, and pulled himself up. He stood up shakily, looked down, and grinned. Alfred climbed the tree, going up in a spiral motion, up and up and up, when the branches to step on suddenly ended. Trying to step on one above him now only resulted in it cracking. He looked down and suddenly realized just how high up he was. He clung to the trunk and started to cry.

_Don't cry. It's okay._

He stopped crying and gasped. "Who are you?" he whispered.

_Um… I'm your friend! Don't cry, okay? What's wrong?_

"Well…" he said, wiping his eyes and accepting the voice's presence, as many six-year-olds accepted the presence of strange things, "I climbed this tree and I can't get down. I'm scared."

_Okay… try going down real slow! Hold on the tree as tight as you can so you don't fall!_

"Okay…" Alfred eased his foot down and, holding tightly onto the trunk, set it down on the branch he'd come from. He gingerly tested the weight, and managed to get the rest of him down as well.

"I did it!" he said happily.

_Can you do the rest by yourself?_

"Uh-huh! Thank you!"

* * *

Ten-year-old Arthur Kirkland said goodbye to his friends and turned around. He started to walk home, but was soon joined by some of the meaner boys in the class above him.

"Hey, Arthur, how's it goin'?" asked one of them snidely.

"Go away," said Arthur firmly. "I'm going home now."

"Did you make sure to say bye-bye to your little imaginary friends?" taunted another boy.

"They are _not_ imaginary," he stated through gritted teeth.

"Yeah? Where are they now?" asked the third boy.

"I suppose that they're going back to their home, too," Arthur replied curtly.

"Ooh~! And is their home filled with buttercups and lollipops and unicorns?" the second boy asked mockingly.

"Yes, no, and yes," Arthur said honestly. The boys laughed.

"You know what," said the first one, stepping in front of Arthur, "I think it's time this wuss stopped living in a dream world. What do you say, guys?"

"You're right," agreed the others. The second one added "You need to join us in the _real_ world, Kirkland!"

Arthur had stopped, surrounded by the boys. He frowned and tried to push his way past them, to no avail. They closed in on him and began punching and kicking, pushing him to the ground for an easier target.

"Say they don't exist!"

"Say it, Kirkland!"

"Do it and we'll let you go!"

Arthur raised his battered head. "No… sorry, guys, but my mother always taught me not to lie…"

They continued to beat on him for about five minutes. Then, with Arthur thoroughly battered and bruised, they left, calling back "It'd be a lot easier if you say they're not real, Kirkland!"

Arthur coughed and sat up, gasping at the pain in his ribs. He reached for his backpack, but instead collapsed out of pain and started to cry.

_Hey, don't cry!_

He stopped sobbing, though the tears still fell. "I know you… I helped you before… when you were stuck in a tree."

_Uh-huh! And it looks like you need help now. What's wrong?_

"It's just…" Arthur wiped his face. "I have these friends… no one else can see them, but they're not imaginary. These boys have been beating me up every day for a week because of it… they want me to say that they're not real."

_You're not going to say it, are you?_

"Of course not. I'm not going to deny their existence for those… brutish simpletons!"

_I know this'll probably sound cliché, but what about telling a teacher? Or something like that…_

"That'll make it worse. They'll beat me harder than ever."

_…hm… okay. I have an idea. Can your friends, you know, touch things? Pick them up, excetera?_

"Yes, and I think it's pronounced 'etcetera'."

_Whatever. Here's the plan…_

The next day, Arthur was walking home from school as usual. And, as usual, the boys started to surround him.

"We'll give you one chance, Kirkland," said the biggest one. "Say your friends aren't real and we'll let you go."

"I won't say it," said Arthur firmly. "And today's the day I teach you a lesson!" He lowered his head slightly, raised his hands, and began to chant.

"_My friends are not real, you say, but I say differently…_"

"Dude, that's a bit freaky," murmured one of the boys.

"Ah, shut up! Let's just get him while he's doing whatever!" the biggest boy started to advance.

"_You see, when I show you my power, I'm sure you'll agree with me_."

He raised his hands, thrust the palms at the boys, and shouted "_Alakazam_!"

"Psh," muttered one of them, advancing, "like that's gonna do – HOLY CRAP!"

He was being raised in the air by apparently nothing. The other two stopped and stared at him, horrified.

"Uh… what the hell?" asked the first boy. Arthur grinned.

"This is my power. My friends are helping me out, and if you don't want me to drop him…" Arthur flexed his fingers and the boy rose higher in the air.

"No! Fine, your friends are real! We won't touch you! Right?"

"Yeah, we'll go away! Put him down! Oh Jesus, this is scaring me!"

Arthur made a motion with his hands, and the boy was gently set down. The three looked at him, shaking. He smiled and said "Why don't you three go on home now?"

They ran away, screaming.

"Crap, run! Run run run!"

"What the hell was that?"

He smiled and thanked his friends for helping him out. Once they had left, he said "Your plan worked out better than I had expected."

_…_

"Hello?"

* * *

Alfred, now fifteen years old, sat on the edge of his bed, covering his ears to block out the sound of his parents fighting. He just knew that they were fighting over him, he just knew it… if he'd been just a bit more helpful, had tried to stop them fighting…

It just wasn't fair…

_What's not fair?_

He jumped a bit. "What the fu—oh, it's you. Hey."

_Hey, yourself. What's wrong?_

"It's just…" he put his head in his hands. "I'm pretty sure my parents are divorcing soon, and I feel crap-guilty because it's my fault."

_How is it your fault?_

"I didn't do enough! I knew that they were fighting, but I didn't do enough to try and keep them together…"

_I'll be honest here: That's ridiculous. It is _not_ your fault that your parents are falling apart._

"Yeah?" said Alfred angrily in response. "How do you know that? You're not here, and you weren't there when they started fighting."

_I don't know. But if you talk to them, I'm sure that they'll be willing to chat with you._

"No… they're too busy fighting. And if they're not fighting, they're out doing something separately. I'm alone a lot at home."

_Go do it now, while they're fighting. If they see you, they might realize that you're hearing what's going on, or perhaps have always heard. In the case that you haven't been communicating, it's highly likely that they're unaware, especially considering that they apparently haven't talked to you about it. _

"So, what, you think talking will fix everything?" he muttered. "Some conscience you are."

_I'm not your—fine, I'm your conscience. And as your conscience, you should listen to me, since we consciences tend to be correct about things._

"And what do I do after I go up to them? Just stand there like a moron? What do I say?"

_Take some initiative and think of something to say by yourself. I don't think I need to help you out on this one._

"Yes you do! I can't do this alone!"

_…_

"Hello? Conscience?" he waited. "God damn it."

He took a deep breath and walked out of his room towards the kitchen. He reached the entryway and looked at his parents, standing in the room, yelling at each other. His father noticed him and said, quietly, "Al?"

His mother looked up too and tried to hide her angry expression. "Al, honey, could you leave us alone for a while? We're having a little disagreement."

"A disagreement?" asked Alfred. He felt tears welling up in his eyes. "What kind of disagreement involves shouting? This 'disagreement' – have you been having the same one every night, or do you like to vary it? Change it every other night or something?"

They looked at each other and back to Alfred with clearly guilty faces. "Al, we—"

"I know you've been fighting," he said, the tears spilling over, "every night for the past… I don't know. I lost count. I can hear you, you know. You keep yelling at each other…"

"Al, please, we can work this out, just leave it to us, okay?" his mother touched his cheek gently.

"You haven't been able to work it out by yourselves at all!" he yelled, moving back from her caressing hand. "Please, if you want to make this work, go for counseling or something! We can do things as a family again, instead of just being apart all the time!"

"Al?" said his father. "I'm very sorry—"

"As am I," interrupted his mother. His father glanced at her before continuing.

"We didn't mean to upset you. We promise to go in for… counseling, or something, in a week or so, okay? If we don't have it worked out by then… but until then, no more yelling."

"No more yelling," agreed his mother.

He nodded and started to cry.

* * *

Eighteen-year-old Arthur lied on his bed, looking at his new diploma, which had the word SALUTATORIAN typed in a fancy bold font. He smiled and set it down on his dresser, looking up at the ceiling.

"I guess I should start applying…" he said to himself.

_Applying to what? _

Not even startled to hear the voice anymore, he said calmly "Hello. I just got my diploma as a salutatorian, so I was thinking that it's about time I started applying for colleges. I want to get a good job, after all."

_What's a salutatorian?_

"It means that I have the second-highest GPA in the class."

_Nice! And here I am, still one year away from graduating…_

"Your parents doing okay?"

_Whuh? Oh, yeah, they're fine. Went in for counseling and things worked out eventually. But enough about me, what kind of job are you looking for?_

"I was thinking… maybe an officer of the law."

_A cop?_

"Yes, a cop."

_THAT'S SO FUCKING COOL!_

Arthur nearly fell off of his bed at this shout in his head. "Good God, don't do that!"

_…_

"Hello?"

_Hi, yeah, sorry about that. I'm sort of in class right now, and it is work time, and everyone's talking, and then I yelled that… it's fine now, though. I pretended I was on my phone._

"Uh-huh. You may want to be a bit more careful about where you are."

_It's not like I control how this thing works. But hey, sounds like you're leading a pretty good life now! Good luck applying and stuff!_

"Thank you, and good luck with your graduation."

* * *

Alfred, aged twenty-seven years, headed up the stairs for his first meeting with one of his coworkers. His first week on the job and already in a meeting – that must be a good sign, right?

"I'll do fine," he muttered as he reached the next flight, decided against taking it, and moving towards the elevator instead, "I'll do fine…"

_Do fine with what?_

"Hi. I'm going for my first meeting with someone who's been here longer than me and I'm kind of nervous."

_Oh, you'll be fine. In fact, I'm going to my… fifth meeting this year. I'm meeting with some rookie, and I hope that it won't be too dull._

He nodded as he stepped in the elevator. A couple of others were in there – a middle-aged man with brown hair and a man close to his own age with thick eyebrows and blond hair.

_Okay, I'm going to try thinking this now… I'm in an elevator and there are two others here._

* * *

_Okay,_ agreed Arthur as the elevator started moving again. _I'll do the same. _

_Oh, hey,_ said the other suddenly, _What kind of meeting are you going to? You're a cop, right?_

_Yes… about that…_ Arthur grinned to himself. _It didn't quite work out. I ended up getting some white-collar job. Quite boring. I'm hoping to try and become a cop again sometime soon, though. Quit this boring job._

* * *

The elevator stopped and Alfred and Arthur got off. They started briskly walking in opposite directions, checking their respective watches.

"Okay," muttered Alfred when he reached a janitor's closet, "I'm lost."

_Oooof course you are. Backtrack to where you got off the lift – you _did_ get off of the lift, didn't you?_

"Sure I did. Yeah, I'll go back."

He headed back to the elevator. "What now? I have no idea where to go. I've never been to this floor before."

_Look for a map and find out where to go to get to your meeting room. You were probably given a number._

"Yeah… okay. Thanks." He checked the floor map by the elevator, traced a path, and headed off in the same direction that Arthur had.

* * *

Arthur sat at a small table, straightening his papers and checking his watch. The rookie was late – of course he was. He sighed and stood up to look out the window. He noticed a police chase happening and resentfully thought _That could have been me down there._

The door squeaked open and he turned around. The man who was in the elevator with him waved and grinned. He nodded to him and went to sit back down. The other man sat down as well – Arthur noted that he was wearing glasses and had a strange cowlick on his hairline.

_I'm real nervous,_ said the voice in his head. Arthur thought back _You'll do fine. Just introduce yourself and let the other one take it from there._

* * *

Alfred took a deep breath. He grinned and held out his hand, saying "Hey there! Nice to meet you. My name's Alfred Jones."

Arthur's eyes widened. His voice… he swallowed and smiled, accepting the handshake and replying "Nice to meet you, Mr. Jones. I'm Arthur Kirkland."

Alfred gasped. He covered his mouth with his hands before slowly lowering them, grinning widely. "It's you."

"It's me," affirmed Arthur. "And it's you."

"It's me," agreed Alfred, smiling. Without a moment's hesitation, the men stood up, came around the table, and hugged.

"It's you… it's really you…" Arthur said with tears in his eyes. "You have no idea how much I hoped you were real…"

"Feeling's mutual, 'conscience'," said Alfred, grinning and letting the tears fall. They smiled at each other, no more words needed.

* * *

**This was actually based off a tumblr post I read. Someone said that they realized that when they read things in their head, it's not their voice. It went on from there to a discussion of how it's your soulmate reading things for you. **

**Then someone said that that person is doomed to be alone if it's their own voice :P**


End file.
